To George F. Babbitt, as to most prosperous citizens of Zenith, his motor car was poetry and tragedy, love and heroism3. The office was his pirate ship but the car his perilous4 excursion ashore5.
Among the tremendous crises of each day none was more dramatic than starting the engine. It was slow on cold mornings; there was the long, anxious whirr of the starter; and sometimes he had to drip ether into the cocks of the cylinders7, which was so very interesting that at lunch he would chronicle it drop by drop, and orally calculate how much each drop had cost him.
This morning he was darkly prepared to find something wrong, and he felt belittled8 when the mixture exploded sweet and strong, and the car didn’t even brush the door-jamb, gouged9 and splintery with many bruisings by fenders, as he backed out of the garage. He was confused. He shouted “Morning!” to Sam Doppelbrau with more cordiality than he had intended.
Babbitt’s green and white Dutch Colonial house was one of three in that block on Chatham Road. To the left of it was the residence of Mr. Samuel Doppelbrau, secretary of an excellent firm of bathroom-fixture jobbers10. His was a comfortable house with no architectural manners whatever; a large wooden box with a squat11 tower, a broad porch, and glossy12 paint yellow as a yolk13. Babbitt disapproved14 of Mr. and Mrs. Doppelbrau as “Bohemian.” From their house came midnight music and obscene laughter; there were neighborhood rumors15 of bootlegged whisky and fast motor rides. They furnished Babbitt with many happy evenings of discussion, during which he announced firmly, “I’m not strait-laced, and I don’t mind seeing a fellow throw in a drink once in a while, but when it comes to deliberately16 trying to get away with a lot of hell-raising all the while like the Doppelbraus do, it’s too rich for my blood!”
On the other side of Babbitt lived Howard Littlefield, Ph.D., in a strictly17 modern house whereof the lower part was dark red tapestry18 brick, with a leaded oriel, the upper part of pale stucco like spattered clay, and the roof red-tiled. Littlefield was the Great Scholar of the neighborhood; the authority on everything in the world except babies, cooking, and motors. He was a Bachelor of Arts of Blodgett College, and a Doctor of Philosophy in economics of Yale. He was the employment-manager and publicity-counsel of the Zenith Street Traction19 Company. He could, on ten hours’ notice, appear before the board of aldermen or the state legislature and prove, absolutely, with figures all in rows and with precedents20 from Poland and New Zealand, that the street-car company loved the Public and yearned21 over its employees; that all its stock was owned by Widows and Orphans22; and that whatever it desired to do would benefit property-owners by increasing rental23 values, and help the poor by lowering rents. All his acquaintances turned to Littlefield when they desired to know the date of the battle of Saragossa, the definition of the word “sabotage,” the future of the German mark, the translation of “hinc illae lachrimae,” or the number of products of coal tar6. He awed24 Babbitt by confessing that he often sat up till midnight reading the figures and footnotes in Government reports, or skimming (with amusement at the author’s mistakes) the latest volumes of chemistry, archeology, and ichthyology.
But Littlefield’s great value was as a spiritual example. Despite his strange learnings he was as strict a Presbyterian and as firm a Republican as George F. Babbitt. He confirmed the business men in the faith. Where they knew only by passionate25 instinct that their system of industry and manners was perfect, Dr. Howard Littlefield proved it to them, out of history, economics, and the confessions26 of reformed radicals27.
Babbitt had a good deal of honest pride in being the neighbor of such a savant, and in Ted’s intimacy28 with Eunice Littlefield. At sixteen Eunice was interested in no statistics save those regarding the ages and salaries of motion-picture stars, but — as Babbitt definitively29 put it —“she was her father’s daughter.”
The difference between a light man like Sam Doppelbrau and a really fine character like Littlefield was revealed in their appearances. Doppelbrau was disturbingly young for a man of forty-eight. He wore his derby on the back of his head, and his red face was wrinkled with meaningless laughter. But Littlefield was old for a man of forty-two. He was tall, broad, thick; his gold-rimmed spectacles were engulfed30 in the folds of his long face; his hair was a tossed mass of greasy31 blackness; he puffed32 and rumbled33 as he talked; his Phi Beta Kappa key shone against a spotty black vest; he smelled of old pipes; he was altogether funereal34 and archidiaconal; and to real-estate brokerage and the jobbing of bathroom-fixtures he added an aroma35 of sanctity.
This morning he was in front of his house, inspecting the grass parking between the curb36 and the broad cement sidewalk. Babbitt stopped his car and leaned out to shout “Mornin’!” Littlefield lumbered37 over and stood with one foot up on the running-board.
“Fine morning,” said Babbitt, lighting38 — illegally early — his second cigar of the day.
“Yes, it’s a mighty39 fine morning,” said Littlefield.
“Spring coming along fast now.”
“Yes, it’s real spring now, all right,” said Littlefield.
“Still cold nights, though. Had to have a couple blankets, on the sleeping-porch last night.”
“Yes, it wasn’t any too warm last night,” said Littlefield.
“But I don’t anticipate we’ll have any more real cold weather now.”
“No, but still, there was snow at Tiflis, Montana, yesterday,” said the Scholar, “and you remember the blizzard40 they had out West three days ago — thirty inches of snow at Greeley, Colorado — and two years ago we had a snow-squall right here in Zenith on the twenty-fifth of April.”
“Is that a fact! Say, old man, what do you think about the Republican candidate? Who’ll they nominate for president? Don’t you think it’s about time we had a real business administration?”
“In my opinion, what the country needs, first and foremost, is a good, sound, business-like conduct of its affairs. What we need is — a business administration!” said Littlefield.
“I’m glad to hear you say that! I certainly am glad to hear you say that! I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, with all your associations with colleges and so on, and I’m glad you feel that way. What the country needs — just at this present juncture41 — is neither a college president nor a lot of monkeying with foreign affairs, but a good — sound economical — business — administration, that will give us a chance to have something like a decent turnover42.”
“Yes. It isn’t generally realized that even in China the schoolmen are giving way to more practical men, and of course you can see what that implies.”
“Is that a fact! Well, well!” breathed Babbitt, feeling much calmer, and much happier about the way things were going in the world. “Well, it’s been nice to stop and parleyvoo a second. Guess I’ll have to get down to the office now and sting a few clients. Well, so long, old man. See you tonight. So long.”
II
They had labored43, these solid citizens. Twenty years before, the hill on which Floral Heights was spread, with its bright roofs and immaculate turf and amazing comfort, had been a wilderness44 of rank second-growth elms and oaks and maples45. Along the precise streets were still a few wooded vacant lots, and the fragment of an old orchard46. It was brilliant to-day; the apple boughs47 were lit with fresh leaves like torches of green fire. The first white of cherry blossoms flickered48 down a gully, and robins49 clamored.
Babbitt sniffed50 the earth, chuckled51 at the hysteric robins as he would have chuckled at kittens or at a comic movie. He was, to the eye, the perfect office-going executive — a well-fed man in a correct brown soft hat and frameless spectacles, smoking a large cigar, driving a good motor along a semi-suburban parkway. But in him was some genius of authentic52 love for his neighborhood, his city, his clan53. The winter was over; the time was come for the building, the visible growth, which to him was glory. He lost his dawn depression; he was ruddily cheerful when he stopped on Smith Street to leave the brown trousers, and to have the gasoline-tank filled.
The familiarity of the rite54 fortified55 him: the sight of the tall red iron gasoline-pump, the hollow-tile and terra-cotta garage, the window full of the most agreeable accessories — shiny casings, spark-plugs with immaculate porcelain56 jackets tire-chains of gold and silver. He was flattered by the friendliness57 with which Sylvester Moon, dirtiest and most skilled of motor mechanics, came out to serve him. “Mornin’, Mr. Babbitt!” said Moon, and Babbitt felt himself a person of importance, one whose name even busy garagemen remembered — not one of these cheap-sports flying around in flivvers. He admired the ingenuity58 of the automatic dial, clicking off gallon by gallon; admired the smartness of the sign: “A fill in time saves getting stuck — gas to-day 31 cents”; admired the rhythmic59 gurgle of the gasoline as it flowed into the tank, and the mechanical regularity60 with which Moon turned the handle.
“How much we takin’ to-day?” asked Moon, in a manner which combined the independence of the great specialist, the friendliness of a familiar gossip, and respect for a man of weight in the community, like George F. Babbitt.
“Fill ‘er up.”
“Who you rootin’ for for Republican candidate, Mr. Babbitt?”
“It’s too early to make any predictions yet. After all, there’s still a good month and two weeks — no, three weeks — must be almost three weeks — well, there’s more than six weeks in all before the Republican convention, and I feel a fellow ought to keep an open mind and give all the candidates a show — look ’em all over and size ’em up, and then decide carefully.”
“That’s a fact, Mr. Babbitt.”
“But I’ll tell you — and my stand on this is just the same as it was four years ago, and eight years ago, and it’ll be my stand four years from now — yes, and eight years from now! What I tell everybody, and it can’t be too generally understood, is that what we need first, last, and all the time is a good, sound business administration!”
“By golly, that’s right!”
“How do those front tires look to you?”
“Fine! Fine! Wouldn’t be much work for garages if everybody looked after their car the way you do.”
“Well, I do try and have some sense about it.” Babbitt paid his bill, said adequately, “Oh, keep the change,” and drove off in an ecstasy61 of honest self-appreciation. It was with the manner of a Good Samaritan that he shouted at a respectable-looking man who was waiting for a trolley62 car, “Have a lift?” As the man climbed in Babbitt condescended63, “Going clear down-town? Whenever I see a fellow waiting for a trolley, I always make it a practice to give him a lift — unless, of course, he looks like a bum64.”
“Wish there were more folks that were so generous with their machines,” dutifully said the victim of benevolence65. “Oh, no, ‘tain’t a question of generosity66, hardly. Fact, I always feel — I was saying to my son just the other night — it’s a fellow’s duty to share the good things of this world with his neighbors, and it gets my goat when a fellow gets stuck on himself and goes around tooting his horn merely because he’s charitable.”
The victim seemed unable to find the right answer. Babbitt boomed on:
“Pretty punk service the Company giving us on these car-lines. Nonsense to only run the Portland Road cars once every seven minutes. Fellow gets mighty cold on a winter morning, waiting on a street corner with the wind nipping at his ankles.”
“That’s right. The Street Car Company don’t care a damn what kind of a deal they give us. Something ought to happen to ’em.”
Babbitt was alarmed. “But still, of course it won’t do to just keep knocking the Traction Company and not realize the difficulties they’re operating under, like these cranks that want municipal ownership. The way these workmen hold up the Company for high wages is simply a crime, and of course the burden falls on you and me that have to pay a seven-cent fare! Fact, there’s remarkable67 service on all their lines — considering.”
“Well —” uneasily.
“Darn fine morning,” Babbitt explained. “Spring coming along fast.”
“Yes, it’s real spring now.”
The victim had no originality68, no wit, and Babbitt fell into a great silence and devoted69 himself to the game of beating trolley cars to the corner: a spurt70, a tail-chase, nervous speeding between the huge yellow side of the trolley and the jagged row of parked motors, shooting past just as the trolley stopped — a rare game and valiant71.
And all the while he was conscious of the loveliness of Zenith. For weeks together he noticed nothing but clients and the vexing72 To Rent signs of rival brokers73. To-day, in mysterious malaise, he raged or rejoiced with equal nervous swiftness, and to-day the light of spring was so winsome74 that he lifted his head and saw.
He admired each district along his familiar route to the office: The bungalows75 and shrubs77 and winding78 irregular drive ways of Floral Heights. The one-story shops on Smith Street, a glare of plate-glass and new yellow brick; groceries and laundries and drug-stores to supply the more immediate79 needs of East Side housewives. The market gardens in Dutch Hollow, their shanties80 patched with corrugated81 iron and stolen doors. Billboards82 with crimson83 goddesses nine feet tall advertising84 cinema films, pipe tobacco, and talcum powder. The old “mansions” along Ninth Street, S. E., like aged2 dandies in filthy85 linen86; wooden castles turned into boarding-houses, with muddy walks and rusty87 hedges, jostled by fast-intruding garages, cheap apartment-houses, and fruit-stands conducted by bland88, sleek89 Athenians. Across the belt of railroad-tracks, factories with high-perched water-tanks and tall stacks-factories producing condensed milk, paper boxes, lighting-fixtures, motor cars. Then the business center, the thickening darting90 traffic, the crammed91 trolleys92 unloading, and high doorways93 of marble and polished granite94.
It was big — and Babbitt respected bigness in anything; in mountains, jewels, muscles, wealth, or words. He was, for a spring-enchanted moment, the lyric95 and almost unselfish lover of Zenith. He thought of the outlying factory suburbs; of the Chaloosa River with its strangely eroded96 banks; of the orchard-dappled Tonawanda Hills to the North, and all the fat dairy land and big barns and comfortable herds97. As he dropped his passenger he cried, “Gosh, I feel pretty good this morning!” III
Epochal as starting the car was the drama of parking it before he entered his office. As he turned from Oberlin Avenue round the corner into Third Street, N.E., he peered ahead for a space in the line of parked cars. He angrily just missed a space as a rival driver slid into it. Ahead, another car was leaving the curb, and Babbitt slowed up, holding out his hand to the cars pressing on him from behind, agitatedly98 motioning an old woman to go ahead, avoiding a truck which bore down on him from one side. With front wheels nicking the wrought-steel bumper99 of the car in front, he stopped, feverishly100 cramped101 his steering-wheel, slid back into the vacant space and, with eighteen inches of room, manoeuvered to bring the car level with the curb. It was a virile102 adventure masterfully executed. With satisfaction he locked a thief-proof steel wedge on the front wheel, and crossed the street to his real-estate office on the ground floor of the Reeves Building.
The Reeves Building was as fireproof as a rock and as efficient as a typewriter; fourteen stories of yellow pressed brick, with clean, upright, unornamented lines. It was filled with the offices of lawyers, doctors, agents for machinery103, for emery wheels, for wire fencing, for mining-stock. Their gold signs shone on the windows. The entrance was too modern to be flamboyant104 with pillars; it was quiet, shrewd, neat. Along the Third Street side were a Western Union Telegraph Office, the Blue Delft Candy Shop, Shotwell’s Stationery105 Shop, and the Babbitt–Thompson Realty Company.
Babbitt could have entered his office from the street, as customers did, but it made him feel an insider to go through the corridor of the building and enter by the back door. Thus he was greeted by the villagers.
The little unknown people who inhabited the Reeves Building corridors — elevator-runners, starter, engineers, superintendent106, and the doubtful-looking lame107 man who conducted the news and cigar stand — were in no way city-dwellers. They were rustics108, living in a constricted109 valley, interested only in one another and in The Building. Their Main Street was the entrance hall, with its stone floor, severe marble ceiling, and the inner windows of the shops. The liveliest place on the street was the Reeves Building Barber Shop, but this was also Babbitt’s one embarrassment110. Himself, he patronized the glittering Pompeian Barber Shop in the Hotel Thornleigh, and every time he passed the Reeves shop — ten times a day, a hundred times — he felt untrue to his own village.
Now, as one of the squirearchy, greeted with honorable salutations by the villagers, he marched into his office, and peace and dignity were upon him, and the morning’s dissonances all unheard.
They were heard again, immediately.
Stanley Graff, the outside salesman, was talking on the telephone with tragic111 lack of that firm manner which disciplines clients: “Say, uh, I think I got just the house that would suit you — the Percival House, in Linton.... Oh, you’ve seen it. Well, how’d it strike you? . . . Huh? . . . Oh,” irresolutely112, “oh, I see.”
As Babbitt marched into his private room, a coop with semi-partition of oak and frosted glass, at the back of the office, he reflected how hard it was to find employees who had his own faith that he was going to make sales.
There were nine members of the staff, besides Babbitt and his partner and father-in-law, Henry Thompson, who rarely came to the office. The nine were Stanley Graff, the outside salesman — a youngish man given to cigarettes and the playing of pool; old Mat Penniman, general utility man, collector of rents and salesman of insurance — broken, silent, gray; a mystery, reputed to have been a “crack” real-estate man with a firm of his own in haughty113 Brooklyn; Chester Kirby Laylock, resident salesman out at the Glen Oriole acreage development — an enthusiastic person with a silky mustache and much family; Miss Theresa McGoun, the swift and rather pretty stenographer114; Miss Wilberta Bannigan, the thick, slow, laborious115 accountant and file-clerk; and four freelance part-time commission salesmen.
As he looked from his own cage into the main room Babbitt mourned, “McGoun’s a good stenog., smart’s a whip, but Stan Graff and all those bums116 —” The zest117 of the spring morning was smothered118 in the stale office air.
Normally he admired the office, with a pleased surprise that he should have created this sure lovely thing; normally he was stimulated119 by the clean newness of it and the air of bustle120; but to-day it seemed flat — the tiled floor, like a bathroom, the ocher-colored metal ceiling, the faded maps on the hard plaster walls, the chairs of varnished121 pale oak, the desks and filing-cabinets of steel painted in olive drab. It was a vault122, a steel chapel123 where loafing and laughter were raw sin.
He hadn’t even any satisfaction in the new water-cooler! And it was the very best of water-coolers, up-to-date, scientific, and right-thinking. It had cost a great deal of money (in itself a virtue). It possessed124 a non-conducting fiber125 ice-container, a porcelain water-jar (guaranteed hygienic), a drip-less non-clogging sanitary126 faucet127, and machine-painted decorations in two tones of gold. He looked down the relentless128 stretch of tiled floor at the water-cooler, and assured himself that no tenant129 of the Reeves Building had a more expensive one, but he could not recapture the feeling of social superiority it had given him. He astoundingly grunted130, “I’d like to beat it off to the woods right now. And loaf all day. And go to Gunch’s again to-night, and play poker131, and cuss as much as I feel like, and drink a hundred and nine-thousand bottles of beer.”
He sighed; he read through his mail; he shouted “Msgoun,” which meant “Miss McGoun”; and began to dictate132.
This was his own version of his first letter:
“Omar Gribble, send it to his office, Miss McGoun, yours of twentieth to hand and in reply would say look here, Gribble, I’m awfully133 afraid if we go on shilly-shallying like this we’ll just naturally lose the Allen sale, I had Allen up on carpet day before yesterday and got right down to cases and think I can assure you — uh, uh, no, change that: all my experience indicates he is all right, means to do business, looked into his financial record which is fine — that sentence seems to be a little balled up, Miss McGoun; make a couple sentences out of it if you have to, period, new paragraph.
“He is perfectly134 willing to pro1 rate the special assessment135 and strikes me, am dead sure there will be no difficulty in getting him to pay for title insurance, so now for heaven’s sake let’s get busy — no, make that: so now let’s go to it and get down — no, that’s enough — you can tie those sentences up a little better when you type ’em, Miss McGoun — your sincerely, etcetera.”
This is the version of his letter which he received, typed, from Miss McGoun that afternoon:
BABBITT-THOMPSON REALTY CO.
Homes for Folks
Reeves Bldg., Oberlin Avenue & 3d St., N.E
Zenith
Omar Gribble, Esq.,
376 North American Building,
Zenith.
Dear Mr. Gribble:
Your letter of the twentieth to hand. I must say I’m awfully afraid that if we go on shilly-shallying like this we’ll just naturally lose the Allen sale. I had Allen up on the carpet day before yesterday, and got right down to cases. All my experience indicates that he means to do business. I have also looked into his financial record, which is fine.
He is perfectly willing to pro rate the special assessment and there will be no difficulty in getting him to pay for title insurance.
SO LET’S GO!
Yours sincerely,
As he read and signed it, in his correct flowing business-college hand, Babbitt reflected, “Now that’s a good, strong letter, and clear’s a bell. Now what the — I never told McGoun to make a third paragraph there! Wish she’d quit trying to improve on my dictation! But what I can’t understand is: why can’t Stan Graff or Chet Laylock write a letter like that? With punch! With a kick!”
The most important thing he dictated136 that morning was the fortnightly form-letter, to be mimeographed and sent out to a thousand “prospects.” It was diligently137 imitative of the best literary models of the day; of heart-to-heart-talk advertisements, “sales-pulling” letters, discourses138 on the “development of Will-power,” and hand-shaking house-organs, as richly poured forth139 by the new school of Poets of Business. He had painfully written out a first draft, and he intoned it now like a poet delicate and distrait140:
SAY, OLD MAN! I just want to know can I do you a whaleuva favor? Honest! No kidding! I know you’re interested in getting a house, not merely a place where you hang up the old bonnet141 but a love-nest for the wife and kiddies — and maybe for the flivver out beyant (be sure and spell that b-e-y-a-n-t, Miss McGoun) the spud garden. Say, did you ever stop to think that we’re here to save you trouble? That’s how we make a living — folks don’t pay us for our lovely beauty! Now take a look:
Sit right down at the handsome carved mahogany escritoire and shoot us in a line telling us just what you want, and if we can find it we’ll come hopping142 down your lane with the good tidings, and if we can’t, we won’t bother you. To save your time, just fill out the blank enclosed. On request will also send blank regarding store properties in Floral Heights, Silver Grove143, Linton, Bellevue, and all East Side residential144 districts.
Yours for service,
P.S.— Just a hint of some plums we can pick for you — some genuine bargains that came in to-day:
SILVER GROVE.— Cute four-room California bungalow76, a.m.i., garage, dandy shade tree, swell145 neighborhood, handy car line. $3700, $780 down and balance liberal, Babbitt–Thompson terms, cheaper than rent.
DORCHESTER.— A corker! Artistic146 two-family house, all oak trim, parquet147 floors, lovely gas log, big porches, colonial, HEATED ALL-WEATHER GARAGE, a bargain at $11,250.
Dictation over, with its need of sitting and thinking instead of bustling148 around and making a noise and really doing something, Babbitt sat creakily back in his revolving149 desk-chair and beamed on Miss McGoun. He was conscious of her as a girl, of black bobbed hair against demure150 cheeks. A longing151 which was indistinguishable from loneliness enfeebled him. While she waited, tapping a long, precise pencil-point on the desk-tablet, he half identified her with the fairy girl of his dreams. He imagined their eyes meeting with terrifying recognition; imagined touching152 her lips with frightened reverence153 and — She was chirping154, “Any more, Mist’ Babbitt?” He grunted, “That winds it up, I guess,” and turned heavily away.
For all his wandering thoughts, they had never been more intimate than this. He often reflected, “Nev’ forget how old Jake Offutt said a wise bird never goes love-making in his own office or his own home. Start trouble. Sure. But —”
In twenty-three years of married life he had peered uneasily at every graceful155 ankle, every soft shoulder; in thought he had treasured them; but not once had he hazarded respectability by adventuring. Now, as he calculated the cost of repapering the Styles house, he was restless again, discontented about nothing and everything, ashamed of his discontentment, and lonely for the fairy girl.
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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heroism
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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ashore
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tar
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cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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belittled
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| 使显得微小，轻视，贬低( belittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gouged
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jobbers
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| n.做零活的人( jobber的名词复数 )；营私舞弊者；股票经纪人；证券交易商 | |
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squat
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glossy
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yolk
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disapproved
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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deliberately
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strictly
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tapestry
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traction
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precedents
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yearned
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orphans
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rental
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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28
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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29
definitively
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| adv.决定性地，最后地 | |
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30
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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34
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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35
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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36
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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37
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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38
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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39
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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40
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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41
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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42
turnover
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| n.人员流动率，人事变动率；营业额，成交量 | |
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43
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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44
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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46
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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47
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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48
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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50
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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51
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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53
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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54
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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55
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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56
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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57
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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58
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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59
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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60
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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61
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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62
trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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63
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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64
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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65
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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66
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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67
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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68
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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69
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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70
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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71
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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72
vexing
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| adj.使人烦恼的，使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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73
brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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74
winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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75
bungalows
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| n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 )；单层小屋，多于一层的小屋 | |
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76
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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77
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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78
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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79
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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80
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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81
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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82
billboards
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| n.广告牌( billboard的名词复数 ) | |
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83
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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84
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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85
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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86
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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87
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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88
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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89
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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90
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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91
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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92
trolleys
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| n.（两轮或四轮的）手推车( trolley的名词复数 )；装有脚轮的小台车；电车 | |
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93
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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94
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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95
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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96
eroded
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| adj. 被侵蚀的，有蚀痕的 动词erode的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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97
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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98
agitatedly
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| 动摇，兴奋； 勃然 | |
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99
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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100
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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101
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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102
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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103
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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104
flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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105
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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106
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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107
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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108
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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109
constricted
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| adj.抑制的，约束的 | |
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110
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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111
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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112
irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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113
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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114
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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115
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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116
bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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117
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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118
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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119
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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120
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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121
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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122
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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123
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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124
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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125
fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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126
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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127
faucet
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| n.水龙头 | |
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128
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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129
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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130
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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131
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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132
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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133
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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134
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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135
assessment
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| n.评价；评估；对财产的估价，被估定的金额 | |
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136
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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137
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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138
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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139
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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140
distrait
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| adj.心不在焉的 | |
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141
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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142
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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143
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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144
residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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145
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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146
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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147
parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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148
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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149
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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150
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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151
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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152
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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153
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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154
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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155
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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